road trash: a poem

walked my kids along the normal path
we usually take.

it was littered with trash
I had never really noticed:

a discarded Covid mask (black cotton).
unused Taco Bell sauce packets.
overturned construction panel
(orange and white),
the bottom opened like a depressed mouth.
an empty Capri Sun packet.
half of a large convenience store Styrofoam cup
that will never break down.
crushed oleander flowers like spilled salt.
abandoned Halloween decorations:
a creepy sun-bleached doll,
and a plastic skeleton dog.

someone should pick this stuff up,
gather it,
toss it in the dumpster.

but not me,
I’ve got to get to work.

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This is a poem from my first book, bearing the burden of existence, available on Amazon.